





I^^jH 




Class T_S„ii__La_ 
Book .E^3T^ 
Gopyri^htN^ ' ^ ^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE 
TERRIBLE MEEK 

a one-act stage play for three 
voices: to be played in darkness 



BY 

CHARLES RANN KENNEDY 

author of 
"the servant in the house" 



" For thev shall inherit the earth " 




HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 
M C M X I I 



ALL STAGE, RECITATION, PUBLICATION, TRANSLATION 
AND OTHER RIGHTS RESERVED. APPLICATION 
SHOULD BE MADE TO MESSRS. HARPER &■ BROTHERS 






COPYRIGHT, 1912. BY CHARLES HANN KENNEDY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
PUBLISHED MARCH. 1912 



€CI.A30!>5^3 



TO 
MY MOTHER 

A NEWER COURAGE. MORE LIKE 
WOMAN'S. DEALING WITH LIFE. NOT 
DEATH. IT CHANGES EVERYTHING 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

A PEASANT WOMAN 

AN ARMY CAPTAIN 

A SOLDIER 



THE TIME 

A TIME OF DARKNESS 



THE PLACE 

A WIND-SWEPT HILL 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 



Before the curtain rises, a bell from some distant 
place of worship tolls the hour. Nine brazen notes, 
far off, out of tune. Then a heavy peal of thunder, 
and the sharp, cracking strike of a bolt; yet, above 
all, one other sound, more piercing — a strange, 
unearthly Cry. There follows a mighty howling of 
wind, blended with a confused clamour of voices and 
the hurrying of many feet. The noises have almost 
all died away, when the Curtain rises upon inky 
darkness. 

A sudden hush. The silence deepens. There is a 
sense of moorlands and desolate places. 

Far off, a cow lows in her stall. Some lost sheep down 
in the valley bleats dismally. Silence again. 

It 15 broken by the Voice of a Woman, 
weeping bitterly. A Peasant Woman. 
[I] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 
Woman. Oh! , . . 

Another Voice: the gentlemanly, well- 
bred voice of an army man, now under 
some stress of emotion. A Captain. 

Captain. My God, this is awful. I can't stand it. 

Woman. Oh! . . . 

Captain. Come, my good woman, it's all over 
now. There's no earthly help for it. You can't 
remain here, you know. 

Woman. Leave me be. Leave me be. 

Captain. All the others left long ago. They hur- 
ried off home the moment — the moment the storm 
came. . . . 

Come, it's bleak and quite too dreadful for you up 
on this hill. Let me send you back to the town with 
one of the soldiers. 

Woman. One of the — soldiers ! . . . 

Captain. Yes: come, come now . . . 

[2] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Woman. Leave me be. Don't touch me. There's 
the smell of death on you. 

Captain. Well, since you . . . And, after all . . . 

The clank and rattle of his sword and 
uniform mark his moving away. He 
sits. 

The smell of death. My God, it's true. 

A bitter wind comes soughing up from 
the valley. The sheep bleats once, 
piteously. Then all is quiet again. 

Some one else is coming. He is heard 
stumbling blindly up over the hill, the 
steel butt of his weapon ringing among 
the stones. A Soldier. 

Groping in darkness, he collides sud- 
denly with the Captain. His Voice 
is that of a common man, city-bred; 

Soldier. Gawd blimey, wot the 'ell . . . 
Oh, beg pawdon, sir. Didn't know it was you, 
Captain. 

[3] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. That's all right, sentry. 

Soldier. 'Pon my word, sir, you give me a start, 
fust go orf. Wot with the storm an' the darkness, 
an' this 'ere Httle job we been doin', I tek my oath 
I thought for a moment as you was . . . well, summat 
else. 

Wasn't quite a nice thing wot 'appened up 'ere 
just nah, sir, was it ^ 

Captain. It wasn't. 

Soldier. I'm on guard myself, sir; or I don't 
know as I'd 'a 'come up, not for choice. 
You bin 'ere all the time. Captain ? 

Captain. Have I .? Yes, I suppose I have. I've 
been here . . . ever since. 

Soldier. It's not exackly the place ter spend a 
pleasant arternoon, is it, sir .? 

Captain. No, I suppose not. 

Soldier. O' course, there's company, as you 
might say; but not quite congenial company, eh wot ? 

[4] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain, rhat depends entirely upon the point 
of view. 

Soldier. Dam' creepy, I call it! . . . 

Well, we done for '/;« good an' proper, any'ah. 

Captain. My God, yes. We builders of empire 
know how to do our business. 

Soldier. Pretty bloody business, too, ain't it, sir ? 

Captain. Yes, that's the word. 

They consider it for a momeni. Pres- 
ently the Soldier laughs at some 
amusing recollection; 

Soldier. It's an ill wind wot blows nobody 
any good. / got summat aht o' this, orl said an' 
done. 

Captain. What's that.? 

SoLDiERo I got some of 'is togs. 

CaptaiNo His togs. How do you mean ? 
[5] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Soldier. Why, I'll tell yer. 'E didn't want no 
more togs, not the way 'e was goin'; nah did 'e ? So 
me an' the boys, we got our 'eds together, and arter 
we'd undressed 'im an' put 'im to bed, so to speak, we 
pitched an' tossed for the 'ole bag lot, one by one, till 
they was orl bloomin' well divided aht. I got 'is boots. 

Captain. You got his boots, did you ^ 

Soldier. Yes, pore devil. '£ don't want them 
no more. Not quite my fit; but they'll do to tek 
'ome for a keepsake — that is, if we ever do get 'ome 
aht of this 'ere stinkin' 'ole. My little missis '11 
think a lot of them boots. 

Captain. They will be a pleasant memento. 

Soldier. Just wot / say, sir. Oh, my missis, she 
got an 'oly nose for 'orrors: she reely 'ave. Tellin' 
abaht them boots '11 last 'er a lifetime. 

Captain. She must be an attractive young wom- 
an, your — missis. 

Soldier. Oh no, sir, just ordinary, just ordinary. 
Suits me, orl right. . . . 

[6] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Some memory holds him for a mo- 
ment; 

Funny thing, Captain, 'o\v this 'ere foreign service 
keeps you — well, sort of thinkin', don't it ? S'pose 
it's the lonely nights an' the long sentry duties an' 
such like. . . . 

Captain. You've felt that too, then, have you ^ 

Soldier. Yessir; meks me think abaht my missis. 
^'Er was in the family way when I left 'ome, 
sir — expectin' just a couple of month arter I 
sailed. . '. . 

The little beggar 'II be gettin' on by nah — that is, 
if 'e come orl right. 

Captain. You've made up your mind for a boy 
then, eh } 

Soldier. She alius 'oped for a boy, sir. Women's 
like that. S'pose it's orl right; it's men wot's wanted 
these days, wot with the Army an' the Spread of Em- 
pire an' orl that. 

Captain. Yes, they make better killing. 

2 [7] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

The Soldier is rather stupid, or he 
would have laughed. He goes on; 

Soldier. Yessir, 'er's bin 'ankerin' arter a kid 
ever since we was married six year ago; but some- 
'ow or other it never seemed to come orf. 'Ealthy 
woman, too, sir. You unnerstand 'ow these things 
is, Captain: there's no tellin'. Little beggars come 
by guess an' by Gawd, it seems to me. . . . 

I wonder if it's a boy. There's no gettin' no news 
aht in this blarsted. . . . 

Good Gawd, wot's that .?.... 

Captain. What .? 

Soldier. Be'ind us. Summat sort of . . . There, 
'ark! 

The Woman's Voice rises, sighing like 
wind ; 

Woman. Oh! . . . 

Soldier. My Gawd, wot is it .? 

Captain. It's a woman. 

[8] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Soldier. A woman! Up 'ere? 

Captain. She has every right to be here. This 
is her place. 

Soldier. But does she know.? Does she know 
wot's . . . danghn' up yonder, over 'er 'ed ? 

Captain. She knows more than we do. She be- 
longs to him. She is his mother. 

Soldier. 'Is mother! . . , 

Captain. Yes, he was her baby once. 

The Soldier is affected by this. He 
speaks with real compassion; 

Soldier. Pore devil! 

Their minds go wandering through 
many troubled by-paths of thought. 
Presently the Soldier speaks again; 

Wot was it 'e done, Captain ? 

Captain. Don't you know ? 

[9] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Soldier. Not exackly. I got enough to look 
arter with my drills an' vittles withaht messin' 
abaht with politics an' these 'ere funny foreign 
religions. 

Captain. And yet you, if I mistake not, were one 
of the four men told off to do the job. 

Soldier. Well, I 'ope I know my duty, sir. I 
on'y obeyed orders. Come to that, sir, arskin' 
your pawdon, it was you as give them orders. 1 
s'pose you knew orl right wot it was 'e done .^ 

Captain. No, I don't know exactly, either. I 
am only just beginning to find out. We both did 
our duty, as you call it, in blindness. 

Soldier. That's strange langwidge to be comin' 
from your lips. Captain. 

Captain. Strange thoughts have been coming to 
me during the last six hours. 

Soldier. It's difficult to know wot's wot in these 
outlandish places. It's not like at 'ome, sir, where 
there's Law an' Order an' Patriotism an' Gawd's 

[10] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Own True Religion. These blarsted 'eathens got 
no gratitude. 'Ere's the Empire sweatin' 'er guts 
aht, tryin' ter knock some sense inter their dam' 
silly 'eds; an' wot do you get aht of it, orl said an' 
done.? Nuthin'! Nuthin' but a lot of ingratitude, 
'ard words, insurrections, an' every nah an' then a 
bloody example like this 'ere to-day! Oh, these 
foreigners mek me sick, they do reely! 

Captain, Yes, perhaps that has been the real 
mistake all along. 

Soldier. Wot 'as. Captain ? 

Captain. Taking these people — men like this one, 
for instance — for foreigners. 

Soldier. Well, you'll excuse me, sir, but wot the 
'ell else are they ? 

Captain. I'm not quite sure ; but supposing 
they were more nearly related ? Supposing, aft- 
er all, they happened to be made of the same 
flesh and blood as you and me ? Supposing they 
were men ? Supposing, even, they were — broth- 
ers } 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Soldier. Brothers! Why, that's exackly wot 'e 
used ter say — 'im up there. . . . 
Did you ever 'ear 'im, sir ^ 

Captain. Once. Did you ? 

Soldier. Once. 

They remain silent for a little. 

It was poHtics when I 'eard 'im. On'v it sahnded 
more like some rummy rehgion. 

Captain. When I heard him it was religion — 
sounding curiously like politics. 

Soldier. Them two things don't 'ardly seem to 
go together, do they, sir ^ 

Captain. They don't. Perhaps they ought to. 

Soldier. I don't know. Seems to 'ave led 'im 
into a pretty mess. . . . 
It's a queer world! . . . 
I wonder wot it was 'e reely done. 

[12]' 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. It's rather late in the day for us to 
be considering that, seeing what we have done, 
isn't it ? 

Soldier. Well, I don't know. P'r'aps it's funny 
of me, but I never done a job like this yet withaht 
thinkin' abaht it arterwards. . . . An' I done a few of 
'em, too. 

If you arsk me, sir, it was them — well, them long- 
faced old jossers dahn there as begun the 'ole 
beastly business. You know 'oo I mean. 

Captain. Yes, I know whom you mean. But 
haven't they a name ? 

Soldier. Well, I 'ardly know wot ter call them, 
sir. They're like a lot of old washerwomen. Alius 
jawin'. We got nuthin' exackly like that sort at 
'ome, sir. 

Captain. Oh, I don't know that there's all that 
difference. 

Soldier. They was alius naggin' the pore fellow, 
one way an' another. Couldn't leave 'im alone. 
They started the 'ole business. 

[1.3] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. Why, what fault did they find with 
him ? What was it they said he did ? 

Soldier. It wasn't nuthin' 'e done, far as I could 
mek aht. It was summat as 'e said, wot riled them. 

Captain. Something he said ? 

Soldier. Yes, summat 'orrible; that's wot they 
said. Summat too bad ter be spoken, summat they 
wasn't a-goin' ter stand from anybody. Least, that's 
wot I 'eard. . . . 

Wasn't so very 'orrible, neither. Not ter me. 
Sahnded a bit mad, that's orl. 

Captain. Oh, then you know what it was .? 

Soldier. Yessir. They 'ad a name for it, too: 
on'y I can't quite remember. One of them big jaw- 
crackers, you unnerstand. Seems a bit orf for a 
bloke ter come ter this, just for usin' a few words. 

Captain. There is great power in words. All the 
things that ever get done in the world, good or bad, 
are done by words. 

Soldier. Well, there's summat in that, too. 

[14] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 



On'y this thing 'e said — blimey, it was nuthin'! 
There ain't a loony alive wot doesn't say the same 
thing 'e said, an' more, a thahsand times a day, 
when 'e's reel bad in 'is 'ead. At the most, it sahnded 
like a bit of langwidge, that's orl. 

Captain. And you don't mind that, do you ? 

Soldier. Me .? 'E could 'a'done it till 'e was blue 
in the face an' welcome, far as I'd care. 

Captain. You yourself, of course, had nothing at 
all against him .? Nothing personal, nothing politi- 
cal, I mean. No more than I had. 

Soldier. Lor' bless you, no, sir. Rawther liked 
'im, the bit I saw of 'im. 

Captain. Only they — the long-faced gentlemen — 
found him guilty. So, of course, they had to hand 
him over to the magistrate. 

Soldier. Yes, blarst them. What did they want 
ter go an' do that for .? 

Captain. It was perhaps their — duty, don't you 

see "^ 

^ [15] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Soldier {taken aback on the sacred word). Oh, 
was it ? Well, since you put it in that way, o' 
course. . . . 

Captain. Then, again, came the magistrate's duty. 
I suppose he found he had some duty in the matter .? 
Did he very much object to this horrible thing that 
had been said } 

Soldier. Not much! 'E ain't that sort, not this 
fellow! . . . 

That's the funny thing abaht it. Far as I could 
'ear, there weren't no mention of that, by the time the 
case come into 'is 'ands. No, it was riotin' an' 
stirrin' people up agen the government, as 'e on'y 'ad 
ter deal with. 

Captain. Was that charge proved against the 
prisoner ^. 

Soldier, They 'ad witnesses, I suppose. On'y 
you know wot witnesses are, in a case like this, sir. 
Got their orders, you unnerstand. 

Captain. And, of course, they all did their duty. 
That sacred obligation was attended to. They obeyed. 

[16] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Soldier. I don't know. Don't arsk me. I know 
nuthin' abaht it. 

He ts a little nettled at the turn the con- 
versation IS taking. 

Captain. Was there no one, from among all those 
crowds that followed him, to stand up and say a 
word for him ^. 

Soldier. Well, wot do you think .^ Them greasy 
blighters! You saw 'ow they be'aved just nah, 
when we done the job. 

Captain. Their duty, as voicers of public opinion, 
I suppose. 

Soldier {^sullenly). I don't know. 

Captain. Had they any very strong feelings 
against this monstrous thing he said .? Were they 
so stirred with affection for the government .? Or 
didn't their duty cover those unessential points ? 

Soldier. I don't know. 

[17] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. Well then, this magistrate ? Having 
examined this poor wretch in the presence of all that 
exemplary, patriotic, obedient mob of people, he soon 
found out where his duty lay ? It was his duty to 
hand him over to us — to you and me. 

Soldier (shortly). Yessir. 

Captain (insisting). To you and me. 

Soldier. I said, Yessir. 

Captain. Whereupon, though we were practically 
ignorant as to the charge upon which this man was 
convicted: though we had grave doubts as to 
whether he were guilty at all; and while it is perfect- 
ly certain that we had nothing against him personally, 
that we even liked him, sympathized with him, pitied 
him: it became our duty, our sworn, our sacred duty, 
to do to him — the terrible thing we did just now. 

Soldier. I can't see wot you're drivin' at, sir. 
You wouldn't 'ave a man go agen 'is duty, would 
you .? 

Captain. I'm trying to make up my mind. I 
[i8] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

don't know. I'm blind. I don't think I know what 
duty is. 

Soldier. It's perfectly plain, sir. Arter all, duty 
is duty, ain't it ? 

Captain. Yes, it doesn't seem to be very much 
else. 

Soldier. 'Ow do you mean, sir ? 

Captain. Well, for instance, it doesn't seem to be 
love or neighborliness or pity or understanding or any- 
thing that comes out hot and fierce from the heart 
of a man. Duty! Duty! We talk of duty! What 
sort of devil's duties are there in the world, do you 
think, when they lead blindly, wantonly, wickedly, 
to the murder of such a man as this! 

Soldier. Well, far as I'm concerned, I on'y 
obeyed my orders. 

Captain, Orders! Obeyed orders! 

Soldier. Well, sir, it was you as give them to 
me. 

[19] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. Good God, man, why didn't you strike 
me in the blasphemous teeth, the hour I gave them ? 

Soldier. Me, sir.? Strike my superior orficer! 

Captain. You struck this defenceless man. You 
had no scruples about his superiority. You struck 
him to the death. 

Soldier (hotly). I on'y did my duty! 

Captain. We have murdered our brother. We 
have destroyed a woman's child. 

Soldier. I on'y obeyed my orders. When my 
superior orficer says, Kill a many why, I just kill 'im, 
that's orl. O' course I kill 'im. Wot's a soldier for ? 
That's duty! {With sudden lust.) Blood an' 'ell! 
I'd kill 'im soon as look at 'im, yes, I would, if 'e 
was Gawd aht of 'Eaven, 'Imself! . . . 

Not as I 'ave anythin' personal agen this pore 
devil. On'y I do know my duty. 

They are silent for a little while. Then 
the Soldier, feeling that he has gone 
too far, begins assuaging the situation; 
[20] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 



There's one thing certain: it's no use cryin' over 
spilt milk. 'E's dead an' done for nah, wotever 
comes. Dead as a door-nail, pore cuss. 

The Captain, %uho has risen during his 
excitement, now sits down again. 
His sword clatters against a boulder. 

A pause. 

'E am't the fust man I done for, neither; an' I 
bet 'e won't be the last. Not by a long way. 

He speaks in an aggrieved tone. It is 
the way in which shame comes to a 
soldier. 



Ap 



ause. 



Captain {deeply). So you think he is dead, do 



you .? 



Soldier. Well, wot do you think .? A man don't 
live forever, 'ung up as 'igh as we got 'im yonder. 
Besides, we did a bit of business with 'is vital parts, 
arter we'd got 'im up there. 

[21] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. And all that, you think, means — death. 

Soldier. Well, don't it.? 

Captain. That's what I'm wondering. 

Soldier. Six hours, mind you. It's a long time. 

Captain. There is something mightier than time. 

Soldier. Well, they don't supply little boys' play- 
things, not from our War Office. One of these 'ere 
beauties. . . « 

He rattles his weapon in the darkness 
and continues; 

. . . when they do start business, generally touch the 
spot. 

Captain. It would have to reach very far, to 
touch — this man's life. 

Soldier. Nah, wotever do you mean, Captain ^ 

Captain. I mean that life is a terrible, a wonder- 

[22] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

ful thing. You can't kill it. All the soldiers in the 
world, with all their hate, can't kill it. It comes 
back, it can't die, it rises again. 

Soldier. Good Gawd, Captain, don't you talk 
like that! 

Captain. Why, what are you afraid of? We 
have shown great courage to-day, you and I. Soldiers 
should be brave, you know. 

Soldier. That's orl very well, when it's a matter 
of plain flesh an' blood; but Lor'! Ghosts! . . . 
Do you believe in them, sir ? 

Captain. What? 

Soldier. Ghosts. 

Captain. Yes. It came to me to-day. 

Soldier (slowly). If I believed there was reely 
ghosts abaht. . . . 

Captain. They are the only realities. Two of 
them ought to be especially important to you and 
me just now. 

4 [ 23 ] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Soldier. Two? Blimey! 'Oose ? 

Captain. Why, yours, man, and mine. Our 
ghosts. Our immortal ghosts. This deed of ours 
to-day should make us think of them forever. 

Soldier. Yours an' mine ? I didn't know we 'ad 
ghosts, you an' me 

Captain. It makes a difference, doesn't it? There 
have been millions of our sort in the long history of 
the world. I wonder how many more millions there 
will be in the years to come. Blind, dutiful, bloody- 
handed: murderers, all of us. A soldier's ghost must 
be a pitiable thing to see. 

The cloudy darkness slightly lifts from 
the ground. Their forms can he 
dimly discerned — vague shadows upon 
a deeper gloom. Up above there still 
dwells impenetrable night. 

Tell me, brother murderer, have you ever prayed ? 

Soldier. Me, sir ? . . . {Ashamed.) Well, sir, nah 
you arsk me, yes I 'ave — once. 

[24] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. When was that ? 

Soldier. Why, sir, abaht a couple of month arter 
I set sail for this blarsted little 'ole. 

Captain. I understand. You prayed then for the 
birth of an innocent child ? 

Soldier. Yessir. 

Captain. You will have need to pray again to- 
night. Both of us will have need. This time for 
the death of an innocent man. 

The Soldier is embarrassed. He does 
not know what to say. Something 
about " duty^' comes into his head; 
but somehow it seems inappropriate. 

A brighter thought occurs to him; 

Soldier. Well, it's time I was dahn yonder, 
lookin' arter the boys. Any orders, sir .? 

Captain. Orders ? No, no more — orders. 

Soldier. Orl right, sir. 
[25] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 



There is heard the rattle of his salutey 
and the dying away of his footsteps, as 
he stumbles blindly up and over the 
hill 

The Captain docs not speak until nit is 
still again. 

Captain. My God! My God! Oh, my God! 

He buries his face m the dirt and 
stones. 

The faintest moaning of wind. The 
sheep bleats. A dog, disturbed by the 
sound, barks, far off. Then there is 
a deep silence, lasting one minute. 

The Voice of the Peasant Woman is 
heard, speaking at first m dull, dead 
tones, very slowly; 

Woman. Thirty-three year ago he was my baby. 
I bore him. I warmed him: washed, dressed him: 
fended for him. I fed his little mouth with milk. 
Thirty-three year ago. And now he's dead. 

[26] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 



Dead, that's what he is. Dead. Hung up in the 
air Hke a thief: broken and bleeding Hke a slaughtered 
beast. All the life gone out of him. And I'm his 
mother. 

A gray, misty light creeps over her face 
and hands. Moment by moment, her 
features limn out faintly through the 
darkness, one pale agony. 
Her garments still blend with the general 
gloom. 

That's what they done to my son. Killed him 
like a beast. Respectable people, they was. Priests, 
judges, soldiers, gentlemen: even common folk like 
me. They done it. And now he's dead. 

He didn't hold with their kind, my son. He was 
always telling them about it. He would stand up 
open in the market-place, at the street corners, even 
in the House of God itself, and tell them about it. 
That's why they killed him. 

He had a strange way with him, my son: always 
had, from the day he first come. His eyes. . . . They 
was wonderful. They held folk. That and his 
tongue and his tender, pitiful heart. 

[27] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

They didn't understand it down here. None of 
us understood it. We was bHnd — even me. Many 
a time I got in his way and tried to hinder him: I 
was afraid for him, ashamed. And then he'd look 
at me. . . . 

They was always wonderful, his eyes. 

He wasn't particular, my son. He would go with 
anybody. He loved them so. There wasn't a 
drunken bibber in the place, not a lozel, not a thief, 
not a loose woman on the streets, but called him 
brother. He would eat with them, drink with them, 
go to their parties. He would go with grand folk, 
too: gentlemen. He wasn't particular: he would 
go with anybody. 

And I tried to hinder him: I got in his way, be- 
cause I was ashamed. I kept pushing in. I was 
afraid of what the people might think. Like I was 
blind. Like I didn't understand. I never told him 
as I understood. And now it's too late. He's 
dead. 

A gust of anguish takes her, overwhelm- 
ing her; 

[28] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Oh, my son, my own son, child of my sorrow, my 
lad, come back to me! It's me, it's your mother, call- 
ing to you. Cannot you hear me out of the lone 
waste and the darkness yonder ? My lad, come 
back, come back to me! . . . 

He's gone. I shall never know the touch and the 
healing gladness of him again, my son, my little 
lad Hark! ... 

The wind rises and falls away like a 
whisper. 

On'y the wind blowing up over the moors. God's 
breath, men call it. Ah! It strikes chill to the 
bones. . . . 

Is it cold you are, my lad .^ I cannot reach you 
yonder — on'y your feet, your poor broken feet and 
the ankles hanging limp toward me. My bosom 
warms and waits for you, hungering, yearning like 
the day I bare you; but I cannot get up to you: I 
am cramped and cold and beaten : I cannot reach you 
yonder. . . . 

There is heard a low fluttering as of 
wings; 

[29] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

The night-birds and the bats may come anigh 
you, they with their black wings; but not your 
mother, the mother that gave you life, the mother 
that held you warm, my son, my son, my little cold 
lad. 

Her speech breaks away into sobs for 
a little while. As she recovers, she 
goes into a dazed dream of memories; 

That was a cold night, too — the night you was 
born, way out in the country yonder, in the barn 
with them beasties. My man, he was sore about it. 
He covered us over with his great wool coat, and 
went and sat out in the yard — under the stars — till 
them three gentlemen come. 

Them three gentlemen. . . . They talked wonder- 
ful. I have it all here in my heart. 

Ay, it was rare and cold that night. Like now. 
Like it is now. . . . 

Wonderful. They was not common folk. They 
was like lords, they spoke so fine. About my little 
lad. About you. 

And then, that other night, before you come. It 

[30] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

was a kind of light: it was a kind of glory. Like 
sunshine. I remember every word he said. About 
you. About my little lad. 

The agony begins to prick through 
again, stab by stab, as she continues; 

It was all promise in them days, all promise and 
hope. Like you was to be somebody. Like you 
was to be a great man. I kept it inside of me: I 
fed on it: day by day as you sprung up, I learned 
you about it. You was to be no common man, you 
wasn't. You was to lord it over everybody. You 
was to be a master of men, you was. And now 
you'm dead. 

Oh! ... Oh!. . . Oh me! . . . 

That day of the fairing, when we went up to the 
big city, your father and me and yourself. The wide 
asking eyes of you, your little hand, how it would 
go out so and so, your little tongue all a-clatter, the 
ways, the wonderings of you, and the heartbreak, 
the heartbreak when we had you lost. Talking to 
the good priests, you said. Good priests! My 
God! .... 

5 [31] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

It began that day, that bitter day of the fairing 
when we went up to the big city. I lost you then. 
I have lost you ever since. 

Oh, the big city, the cruel city, the city of men's 
sin! Calling, calling the sweet life of a man and 
swallowing him up in death. There was no doing 
with you from that day. No home for you in the 
little village from that day. Your father's trade, 
your tasks, your companions, all fell off from you 
that day. The city, the big city called you, and 
the country thereabouts. It was your kingdom, you 
said. You must find out and build your kingdom. 
And the people thronged about you and followed 
you wherever you went in them days. They hung 
upon your words: they worshipped you. In them 
days. It was the way you had — ^your strange way. 
A power went out from you. You was always like 
nobody else. A king! A king! It was me as put 
it first into your head. You looked like a king. 
You spoke like a king. You ruled like a king. You, 
the little peasant lad I bore. I never told you: I 
never lifted up my hand to help you: I hindered 
you; but I was proud of you, my lad, proud and 
ashamed, and afraid, too! And now it's too late. 
You'm dead. All come to nothing. You'm dead. . . . 

[32] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Dead. Killed by the soldiers and the judges of 
the great city. I'll tell them about it. I'll go 
through all the earth telling about it. Killed by the 
men you called your brothers. Killed by the chil- 
dren of your kingdom. Killed, and the golden 
crown of your glory torn off, battered, and cast to 
the ground. Beaten, mocked, murdered by the 
mighty masters of the world. Hung up, high up 
in the air like a thief. Broken and bleeding like a 
slaughtered beast. 

She has come to the bottom of her grief. 
Her voice dies away through strangled 
sobs into silence. 

A pause. 

The Captain rises. He halts irreso- 
lute for a moment. Then he can be 
heard moving over to where she lies 
prone on the ground. 

Captain. Woman, will you let me speak to 
you ? 

Woman. Who are you ^ 
[33] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. I am the captain who spoke to you just 
now. I am in charge here. I am the man who 
gave the order that killed your son. 

Woman. Ah ! . . . 

Captain. Won't you hear me ? I must speak to 
you. 

Woman. What do you want to say .? What is 
there for you to say ^ 

Captain. It is about myself. . . . I. . . . 

Woman. Go on. I'm Hstening. 

Captain. I am a murderer. I want you to for- 
give me. 

She does not answer. 

I did it. I did it with a word. It was Hke magic. 
One word, one httle word, and I was a murderer. 
There is nothing more terrible in the world than to 
be a murderer. . . . 

And now I want you to forgive me. 
[34] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

She does not answer. 

I suppose it's impossible. Forgiveness is impos- 
sible for a wretch like me. Because I killed him. 
For God's sake, speak to me! 

Woman (/« a stupor). I want to. I'm trying to. 
But you say you killed my son. 

Captain. Oh! . . . 

Woman. Why did you do it ^ 

Captain. I did not know. Killing's my trade. 
It was the only thing they brought me up to do. 

She does not answer. 

I have been mixed up with it ever since I can re- 
member. My father did it before me. AH my peo- 
ple did it. It is considered the thing — the sort of 
thing a gentleman ought to do. They call it glory: 
they call it honor; courage; patriotism. Great 
kings hold their thrones by it. Great merchants 
get their beastly riches by it. Great empires are 
built that way. 

[35] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Woman. By murder ? 

Captain. By murder. By the blood of just men. 
Women and little children too. 

Woman. What makes them do it .? 

Captain. They want money. They want power. 
They want kingdom. They want to possess the 
earth. 

Woman. And they have won. They have it. 

Captain. Have they .? Not while your son hangs 
there. 

She IS bewildered. 

Woman. What do you mean } My son. . . . 
My son is dead. 

Captain. Is he .? Not while God is in Heaven. 

Woman. I don't understand you. What were 
you saying yourself, just now .? On'y a little while 
ago I heard his blood dripping down here in the 

[36] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 



darkness. The stones are dank with it. Not an 
hour ago. He's dead. 

Captain. He's alive. 

Woman. Why do you mock me.? You'm mad. 
Are you God, as you can kill and make ahve, all in 
one breath ? 

Captain. He's alive. I can't kill him. All the 
empires can't kill him. How shall hate destroy the 
power that possesses and rules the earth .? 

Woman. The power that. . . . W ho ? 

Captain. This broken thing up here. Your 



son. 



Woman. My son, the power that. . . . 

Captain. Listen. I will tell you. . . . 

I am a soldier. I have been helping to build 
kingdoms for over twenty years. I have never known 
any other trade. Soldiery, bloodshed, murder: that's 
my business. My hands are crimson with it. That's 
what empire means. * 

[373 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

In the city I come from, it is the chief concern of the 
people. Building kingdoms, rule, empire. They're 
proud of it. The little children in the schools are 
drilled in obedience to it: they are taught hymns in 
praise of it: they are brought up to reverence its 
symbols. When they wave its standard above them, 
they shout, they leap, they make wild and joyful 
noises; like animals, like wolves, like little brute 
beasts. Children! Young children! Their parents 
encourage them in it: it never occurs to them to feel 
ashamed: they would be treated like lepers if they 
felt ashamed. That's what empire does to human 
beings in the city I come from. It springs from 
fear — a peculiar kind of fear they call courage. 

And so we go on building our kingdoms — the 
kingdoms of this world. We stretch out our hands, 
greedy, grasping, tyrannical, to possess the earth. 
Domination, power, glory, money, merchandise, 
luxury, these are the things we aim at; but what we 
really gain is pest and famine, grudge labour, the en- 
slaved hate of men and women, ghosts, dead and 
death-breathing ghosts that haunt our lives forever. 
It can't last: it never has lasted, this building in 
blood and fear. Already our kingdoms begin to 
totter. Possess the earth! We have lost it. We 

[38] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

never did possess it. We have lost both earth and 
ourselves in trying to possess it; for the soul of the 
earth is man and the love of him, and we have made 
of both, a desolation. 

1 tell you, woman, this dead son of yours, dis- 
figured, shamed, spat upon, has built a kingdom this 
day that can never die. The living glory of him 
rules it. The earth is his and he made it. He and 
his brothers have been moulding and making it 
through the long ages: they are the only ones who 
ever really did possess it: not the proud: not the 
idle, not the wealthy, not the vaunting empires of 
the world. Something has happened up here on 
this hill to-day to shake all our kingdoms of blood 
and fear to the dust. The earth is his, the earth is 
theirs, and they made it. The meek, the terrible 
meek, the fierce agonizing meek, are about to enter 
into their inheritance. 

There is a deep, solemn silence for a 
moment or two, broken only by the 
tinkle of sheep-bells, which are gradu- 
ally approaching. 

Woman. Then it was not all wasted. It was the 
truth, that night. I have borne a Man. 
6 [39] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. A man and more than a man. A King. 

Woman. My peasant lad, a king: Yes. And 
more yet. He was what he said he was. He was 
God's Son. 

Captain. It will take a new kind of soldier to serve 
in his kingdom. A new kind of duty. 

Woman. A newer courage. More like woman's. 
Dealing with life, not death. 

Captain. It changes everything. 

Woman. It puts them back again. What he done, 
puts all things back again, where they belong. 

Captain. I can see the end of war in this : some day. 

Woman. I can see the joy of women and little 
children: some day. 

Captain. I can see cities and great spaces of land 
full of happiness. 

Woman. I can see love shining in every face. 
[40] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. There shall be no more sin, no pain. . . . 

Woman. No loss, no death. . . . 

Captain. Only life, only God. . . . 

Woman. And the kingdom of my Son. . . . 

Captain. Some day. 

Woman. When the world shall have learned. 

Captain. Mother! ... I am a murderer! . , . 

Woman. I have been with Child. I forgive 
you. 

It grows a little lighter. 

Some one is heard stumbling blindly over 
the hill. It is the Soldier. His 
form emerges gray out of the gloom. 

Soldier. 'EUo! Are you there. Captain.? 

Captain. Yes. I'm here. 
[41] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Soldier. The fog's liftin' dahn below there — lift- 
in' fast. It '11 soon be up orf this 'ill, thank Gawd ! 
The General wants ter see you, sir. 

Captain. What does he want with me .? Do you 
know .? 

Soldier. Another of these 'ere bleedin' jobs, I 
think, sir. Been a bit of a disturbance dahn in the 
tahn. The boys 'ave their orders, sir. General 
wants you ter take command. 

Captain. Tell him I refuse to come. 

Soldier. Beg pawdon, sir. . . . 

Captain. I refuse to come. I disobey. 

Soldier. I don't think I quite 'card, sir. 

Captain. I disobey. I have sworn duty to an- 
other General. I serve the Empire no longer. 

Soldier. Beg pawdon, sir, it's not for the 
likes of me; but . . . Well, you know wot that 
means. 

[42] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

Captain. Perfectly. It means what you call 
death. Tell the General. 

Soldier. Tell 'im as you refuse to obey orders, sir .? 

Captain. His: yes. (Half to himself); How 
simple it all is, after all. 

Soldier {after a moment); I'm sorry. Captain. 

Captain. Thank you, brother. 

The Soldier has no word to say. 

The darkness is rapidly melting away. 
All three figures are now beginning to 
be seen quite clearly. 

Soldier. Look sir, wot did I tell yer } It's com- 
in' light again. 

Captain. Eternally. 

An unearthly splendour fills the place. 
It IS seen to be the top of a bleak stony 
hill with little grass to it. 
[43] 



THE TERRIBLE MEEK 

The Woman is dressed in Eastern gar- 
ments; the Captain is a Roman 
centurion; the SoLDIER, a Roman 
legionary. Above them rise three 
gaunt crosses bearing three dead men 
oibbeted like thieves. 

o 

At the foot of the crosses a flock of sheep 
nibble peacefully at the grass. The 
air is filled with the sound of their 
little bells. 



Curtain 



; 14 ibii^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 908 790 6 *-^ 



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